The Foundling
by KittenJedi
Summary: under construction! Bad Summary: A young girl found in the shire holds terrific powers and survives a terrible past. Taken in by Elrond she grows to womanhood: but her failure could aid in the destruction of Middle Earth
1. Chapter One

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any associated characters, trademarks, ANYTHING. I only own a few characters here, and not many at that. So far the tally is a girl named Vasha.  
  
This is not an SI, nor is it a Mary Sue.  
  
The realization came to me one night while watching the Fellowship of the Ring, council of Elrond scene. Where were the embassaries from Rohan? They had Gondor, they had Dale, and they had the Beornings... But no men from Rohan. That was the seed that started this madness. The rest just kind of developed in my head while I was at work.  
  
Dates and ages are accurate! I went through with a calculator and my copy of the timeline from the back of "Return of the King". Anyone wants to know the finished timeline, I'll post it... It has a lot of stuff not in the real timeline, but mentioned in other places.  
  
Please, comment. I love comments. They're our friend.

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Vasha sniffled, wiping a tear away, trying to hold back her sobs. She carefully picked up her broken and smashed crayons, trying, in her childish innocence, to fit the pieces back together so that the crayons would be whole again. When the crayons remained in pieces, she began sobbing harder, but still, she tried to muffle the sounds. Mother might hear, and if Mother heard, Mother might come and beat her again, might take away the crayons this time instead of just trying to destroy them. Vasha's crayons were the only bright spot in her life, the only thing that brought the small four- year-old happiness.  
  
Gathering up what pieces she could, Vasha stood and stumbled into her closet, fighting the age old fear of the monster that she knew lived in there, so she could hide behind boxes and bags, blankets and clothes... Hiding from the outside world and Mother.  
  
She knew it wasn't allowed, that if Mother found out there would be hell to pay, no sleep at all for many nights from the pain Mother would inflict upon her. Still, Vasha had to escape. Just for a little while. With a trebling hand, she took up one of her crayons, and began to draw the outline of a door on the wall of her closet. A door just big enough for her. It wasn't a regular door, of course, but round. Vasha liked curved things; they weren't usually as sharp and as painful as anything with corners. And regular rectangular doors were scary. They held a special pain. And for Vasha, different shapes, different colors, all made different doors... Doors that all led to entirely different places.  
  
For Vasha was special. She had several talents, none of which should belong to a girl, let alone one so little. For every doorway that she drew became real. A gateway to a different place, some strange and wonderful, some horrifying and terrible. Also, she could change her shape; take on the form of animals. It was this latter that had earned her her most recent beating, for Mother didn't like strangeness. Mother didn't like Vasha much either, for Vasha was the epitome of strange in Mother's ordered world of parties, business, adults, and algebra. Mother had beaten Vasha numerous times for her strangeness, for being a skin changer and for being able to make the doorways she feared and hated. Though, Mother beat Vasha for many other reasons as well. Sometimes, for no reason at all.  
  
The door Vasha drew in green crayon was crude, as was the scrolling ironwork she had determined served the dual purpose of hinges and fortifying the door, helping hold it together while decorating it at the same time.  
  
She did not know why she put the doorknob in the middle of the door; she merely did so because a whispering voice in her mind told her to, that there would be something good on the other side of such a door. It was the same voice that had helped her choose green for the color of the outline, a green wax outline which had blurred and bled and turned the entire door green, turning it solid as soon as she was finished. Turning it into a door anyone could easily walk through. For Vasha, green doors usually meant nice places near forests, or beautiful fields and meadows. Blue meant places by the seashores or a river, while black and red... Those were the doors Vasha dreaded. She never drew those doors, except for the door that would return her home. Black and red doors meant horrible, scary places.  
  
And then, the door was done.  
  
Feeling no hesitation, she opened the door and stepped through it, leaving her crayons behind.

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Please, Review.  
  
Authors Note: Short chapter, yes, I'm sorry. Some chapters will be like this, but only a very few. 


	2. Chapter Two

Standard disclaimer goes here.  
  
And we start the introduction of canon characters, and we learn a bit more about Vasha...

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Gandalf the Grey enjoyed the Shire more than any other place in Middle Earth. The land was always lush and verdant, the inhabitants always jolly. It was a calm, sensible place that valued cheer, good food, good drink, and good people (the term applying almost strictly to hobbits, of course) more than anything else.  
  
And, as magic was severely frowned upon in the Shire (it was to be considered dangerous and suspicious unless it was such harmless things as fireworks) he was, needless to say, quite surprised when he watched a door form and appear before his very eyes in what had been a bare hillside. He was even more surprised when he saw who stepped out of the doorway.  
  
She was a tiny mite of a child, appearing to be all sharp, knobby bones. No more than a walking skeleton with a tightly drawn covering of skin, really. Her ash blonde hair was all in tangles and was quite dirty, her soiled red dress nearly rags and far too large for such a small girl. Yet what pained him the most on seeing this obviously unloved child was her face. Fine, fragile, almost elvish features, bruised and bloody from a recent beating. Her eyes were blackened, a deep wound under one still oozed blood, and there was a crust of dried blood around her nostrils. She had obviously been rubbing at her face, for the blood had all been smeared about a bit. The tears she had shed had cut stark tracks through the gore.  
  
Gandalf loved children almost more than anything in all of Middle Earth. He loved them for they were all that was pure and good in the world, and that they held the bright futures of all races. The abuse of one so young and defenseless shocked, horrified, and angered him beyond all measure.  
  
"Hello." He said in his kindest voice, trying to show her that he would not hurt her. She had been looking at him with some interest, taking in his long grey robes, tall pointed hat, large staff... And more than anything, she had been staring at his beard. She jumped, body tensing, posture turning wary as he spoke, appearing as though she expected a blow. His heart went out to her. "Where did you come from, little one?"  
  
"Home." Came the soft reply.  
  
_No child should have such a home..._ Was his silent thought, before he pondered his next question. He wanted to know about the door, how she had made it appear so, or if it had even been her at all. "And where might your home be?" He finally asked. The only response he received was a shrug as the girl turned, picking up a clump of dirt to rub on the door she had walked through. Slowly, the door disappeared.  
  
_So it was she... Else, how would the door have vanished so?_ He decided to try a different question. "How did you get here?"  
  
"Through my door." The whisper soft voice held both a child's lisp and a child's honesty. And, thank the Valar, her fear of him seemed to be subsiding.  
  
"Your door?" Her words intrigued the aging wizard. "Did you conjure it then, little one?"  
  
"No. I drew it on the wall with my colors." She looked at him again, the door gone now, her head tilted to one side. "What's a conjoor?"  
  
He chuckled. "A conjure. It means to summon something." He knew better than to avoid answering the questions of children. He held out a hand, smiling benignly. "Would you like to come with me? I am off to visit a friend for afternoon tea, perhaps supper and breakfast besides. He lives just down the road a bit, and always serves the most delicious food."  
  
She looked torn. Obviously, she was hungry and the mention of food, good food, drew her like a moth to a flame. But there was something holding her back... Something strong enough to overcome her desire for food, which had to be strong, with her in such a state. She looked like a famine victim brought back from the dead.  
  
"Mother said I'm not supposed to go with strangers." She finally said, "And I'm not supposed to take food from strangers either. Mother said that the strangers would hurt me and poison me and kill me, and that if they didn't, she would. And Mother says I'm not good enough to eat anything today. If I do she'll kill me. Mother said she would." The terror of her mother was great. And the honesty that filled her words, not to mention her very appearance, led Gandalf to believe that her mother would kill her. No, there would be no going back to such a woman, such a home, for this child. He would see to it.  
  
"Then I had best introduce myself so that I am no longer a stranger. I am Gandalf the Grey." He extended a hand to her, keeping his kind smile.  
  
"I'm Vasha. But Mother calls me a horrible monster. Or a terrible beastie. Or an abobnation." She had trouble getting her mouth around the last word. She looked up at him, sorrow in her eyes. "Does that mean I'm Vasha the terrible monsters beastie girl?"  
  
Gandalf wanted to send her mother to the abyss for saying such things. "No. Here you can be just Vasha, a little girl who has no Mother to hurt her. For, you see, you do not seem to be either a monster or a beastie or an abomination to me, and I can see farther than most. For I am a wizard. Do you know what a wizard is?"  
  
He saw hope enter her eyes. "You mean you can do magic and make doors too?"  
  
"I can do magic, yes," He smiled, "But I cannot make doors as you can. Leastways, I have never tried. Still, now that we have been properly introduced, we cannot be strangers, hm?"  
  
She thought a moment, looking confused. "No... I guess you're right..." She paused before asking her next question carefully, her four-year-old brain pondering the consequences of some of his previous words.  
  
"What did you mean by not having a Mother to hurt me?"  
  
"You will not have to go back there, little one. There are many places here to keep you safe from harm. But we will talk of that later. We have a bit of a walk before us, a long walk for one with such short legs. Over a mile. We should start now, ere we are late."  
  
"Okay." She took his hand, trusting him, as they started to walk down the smooth dirt road.

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Bilbo hurried out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea towel, swinging open the door. He was expecting Gandalf for tea, but with his relatives... Well, one never knew. Belatedly, he hoped it was only the wizard, and not one of the Sackville-Bagginses. He broke into a smile when he saw that it was indeed, his old friend, and not his horrible relations.  
  
"Gandalf!" Bilbo cried, about to embrace the old wizard tightly, but something serious in the man's demeanor stopped him.  
  
"Bilbo, it is good to see you, and I apologize for being late, but we have no time for pleasantries at the moment." Gandalf hurried to say, holding a bundle in red rags in his arms, "Set the large kettle to boil and fill the washtub." The wizard pushed past Bilbo with ease and stepped into the hobbit hole, ducking so he would not hit his head on the ceiling as he had often done before.  
  
"In need of a bath so- oh my!" It was then that Bilbo saw that the bundle Gandalf held was really a little girl, face smeared with blood, hair matted with it. Bilbo's hands flew to his mouth, his eyes widening in alarm even as he paled. "Is that-?"  
  
"A girl. A human girl, yes. I found her on my way here, and she is in sore need of care. Please, my friend. Before she wakes. I do not know how long the sleep spell will hold her, for she fights it."  
  
"I shall go to fetch Gammer Ama-"  
  
"She can wait a few moments longer." Gandalf shook his head. "Hurry, see to the kettle. Even Gammer Amaryllis would go into a faint at seeing the child like this. When you are done filling the kettle you must go fetch Gammer Amaryllis, and ask her to bring her satchel of healing herbs as well as a change of clothes that would fit a hobbit lad or lass of about seven, I should think. And a sewing kit, just in case. Hurry now!"  
  
"Yes, yes... Er... You can put her into the second best guest room-"  
  
"I know where it is. Send for Gammer Amaryllis as soon as you are done heating the water." Gandalf bore his small charge through the hobbit hole; ever cautious so as not to hit his head while Bilbo hurried to fill the large kettle and the tub as Gandalf had ordered.

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Review, please.  
  
Authors Note: If I were any person from Middle Earth... would probably be a hobbit. And I'm sorry about what has been done to Vasha... But it's going to get worse, I'm afraid. 


	3. Chapter Three

Standard Disclaimer here: My name is not Tolkein (I wish...) so therefore... How can I own it?  
  
Short chapter, sorry.

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Gammer Amaryllis Took was a formidable woman. Known well for her healing remedies, she was frequently called on by almost all hobbits in Hobbiton. Something that both pleased and vexed her to no end. She believed she had seen every ailment and injury to be found in the shire, until she was called upon to see to the little girl.  
  
"You say she's a foundling, an orphan, then?" She questioned Gandalf sharply after having cleaned the girl and seen to her wounds as best she could. The wounds had been numerous, and Gammer could only wonder in fascinated horror how she had come by them, who would be so callous as to harm such a sweet child so. For Vasha had woken up shortly after Gammer's arrival, and had asked if she could have a drink of water, please, she was quite thirsty, and where was she, if it pleased Gammer to tell her, and that she would be five in nine months come June, or the sixth month. Which came to Forelithe on the hobbit calendar, so figured Gammer.  
  
"A foundling, yes. I can only hope that she is an orphan." Gandalf replied, having enough sense to be meek in front of Gammer, for she was used to getting her way and being intimidating.  
  
"And ye say that ye found her in such a state?" Gammer demanded again.  
  
"I did. Little more than a mile distant... As though she dropped from a clear sky." Best not tell Gammer the truth of it.  
  
Gammer turned up her nose at that. _Magic,_ she thought, _this is what comes when one meddles in such things._ "Well." She finally said, placing a few glass bottles of an herbal tisane on the table. "She is to rest a two day, before she can be up and around again. Feed her well, it is not healthy for any to be so thin, hobbit or big 'un. She is to drink this tisane every night before bed for a ten night, two spoonfuls, mixed with a large mug of warm milk. I've changed her into one of my Peony's nightshirts, and that should hold her till ye get her some decent clothing made."  
  
"Thank you, Gammer. We'll settle the payment with you later, hm? After she is well. Why don't I escort you home?"  
  
"I'm not so old as I can't walk to my own home, Bilbo Baggins." Gammer glared at them, before shuffling out of Bilbo's hobbit hole.  
  
Once she was gone, Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief, before turning to the wizard. "Well now, I expect we'll have our tea and you'll tell me just how you came to find a human girl in the shire, hm?"  
  
"I suspect you may have to suspend your disbelief for me to do so."  
  
Bilbo chuckled. "My friend, I suspend my disbelief every time we meet..." 


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: If you think I own it, you're nutters. I just borrow without permission, alter beyond all recognition, and return.

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Vasha sat out in the sunshine of Bilbo's garden, watching the children of the shire run by, happily at play, keeping quiet and sitting among the tall plants so that they couldn't see her. Bilbo watched in silence from where he sat on the porch, smoking his pipe, deep in thought. It had been over a month since Gandalf had shown up with the girl, and the wizard had disappeared the day after, saying that he had business to attend to and that he would be back shortly for the girl. Vasha had remained quiet and timid, only speaking when spoken to directly. She ducked and cringed at any sudden movements, and loud noises startled her overmuch. _Understandable in her situation,_ Bilbo thought with a sigh. _Always on edge, thinking that mother of hers is going to show up one day and take her away... Well, not if this hobbit has anything to say about that._  
  
"Vasha." He called with a smile, removing the pipe from his mouth. The little girl looked up and over at him, her features still sharp and angular from the starvation diet her mother had kept her on. "Wouldn't you like to go play with the other children?"  
  
She shook her head. "No sir."  
  
Bilbo sighed. She was an easy child to care for, really, but yet it was so hard to care for her. A true oxymoron. "It's almost time for elevenses. I've made some lovely meat pies-"  
  
"I'm not hungry, thank you." She said quietly, looking down and playing with the hem of her skirt.  
  
Bilbo couldn't help but laugh at her words. "Not hungry? Why, I don't believe I've ever heard anyone in the shire declare themselves to simply be 'not hungry'. Especially not when my meat pies are involved!"  
  
"But... But we just ate."  
  
"So you're full?" Bilbo asked, curious, "That is quite different from being merely 'not hungry'."  
  
"No... I'm not full..." She muttered, more to the ground than to him.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Not full."  
  
"Then why aren't you hungry?" Bilbo was genuinely puzzled. She was the oddest lass, hobbit or otherwise, that he had ever met, to behave so.  
  
"Mother said that I'm only allowed to eat once a day an' only if I'm good but I haven't been good 'cause I ran away an' if she finds out I ate something when I was bad cause I'm not 'posed to she'll hurt me even more than she's gunna hurt me an' maybe she really will kill me this time."  
  
Bilbo was shocked into silence. He collected himself as quickly as he was able, which took a few moments. "Er, well, but your mother is not here, and I doubt she ever will be. If it is up to Gandalf, I daresay you'll never have to even think about her again."  
  
"You assume correctly, my friend." Gandalf smiled, leaning against the gate. Bilbo jumped to his feet, smiling.  
  
"Gandalf! We didn't even see you come up the road-"  
  
"So I deduced. Has Vasha been doing well?" Gandalf opened the gate and stepped into the yard. Vasha got to her feet and hurried over to him.  
  
"I've been really good, I promise. I haven't drawn any doors or nothin'!" She said, looking up at him pleadingly. Gandalf smiled kindly, picking her up with ease.  
  
"Drawing your doors isn't misbehaving, you just must have the proper supervision for that. What I meant was, did you mind Bilbo? Have you been recovering your strength? Other things, such as that."  
  
"But he wants me to eat alla time and Mother says-"Vasha started before Bilbo could speak. Gandalf smiled kindly, putting a finger to her lips and effectively silencing her.  
  
"Your mother is not here, and she was quite wrong in saying you could eat only once daily-"  
  
"-If I was good-"  
  
"I stand corrected. Once daily if you were good. Now, however, she is on the other side of one of your doors, and you are quite safe from her. So there is to be no more fear of eating, all is well here and even naughty little children only loose their dessert, not entire meals."  
  
"You promise?" The dubious yet hopeful look on her face made him smile kindly.  
  
"I promise. So you can eat as much as you'd like."  
  
"Which is precisely what I was trying to tell her." Bilbo sighed, watching the exchange. Vasha seemed to open up to Gandalf far more than she did him, and probably far more than she ever would open up to Bilbo.  
  
"Well, sometimes, it takes more than one source before a child can accept anything." Gandalf turned back to Vasha, whom he still held in his arms. "Now, since you seem to have been quite good, and it wouldn't be polite to impose on Bilbo's kindness for too much longer-"  
  
"What's 'mpose mean?"  
  
"It is almost like taking advantage of hospitality and kindness, but not."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"You are hardly imposing." Bilbo retaliated with his cheerful grin, repacking his pipe with longbottom leaf. "Having a child around has been a joy, even if she is quieter than a shadow."  
  
Gandalf chuckled.  
  
"I'm not a shadow." Vasha replied with a bit of a pout. "I'm a Vasha."  
  
"Yes, you are." Gandalf said kindly, "But you need to eat a bit more else you turn into a shadow. Now, as I was about to say before we got off topic, I've brought you a present."  
  
Vasha's large eyes grew even wider. "A present? For me?"  
  
"Yes." Gandalf smiled, carrying her to the fence. He had a swift looking grey horse she had been able to see (only barely, as she wasn't as tall as the hedge fence) but once they had passed through the gate, it was revealed that a small, golden pony stood patiently on the other side of the grey horse. Vasha let out a squeal of glee and clapped her hands together happily.  
  
Gandalf laughed at her joy and set her down so she could run forward and inspect the pony to her hearts content.  
  
"Yes, she is yours. Her name is Falda and a more sprightly pony I have never seen in all my long days, though she is quite gentle as well." He watched as Vasha crooned to the pony and stroked its whiskery nose. Falda merely arched her neck proudly; glad to be made much of.  
  
"Such a little thing for such a big pony!" Bilbo exclaimed nervously, having followed them to the gate but going no further. "Even hobbits don't often ride ponies, and she's not even the size of-"  
  
Peace, my friend. Falda is a good steed, and even though Vasha is small, it will do her good. See how happy she is?"  
  
"The pony or the girl?"  
  
Gandalf couldn't help but laugh. "Both, of course. But Falda is a gentle one, for all that I found her in Rohan. Thengel King himself sold her to me, and he is a good man to judge horseflesh... Or ponyflesh, as the case may be. He was loathe to sell her at first, but when I explained to him that there was a little girl who needed a good pony for a long journey, he readily agreed." Gandalf looked to Vasha. "My dear, how would you like to ride to Rivendell with me and meet the elves?"  
  
Vasha looked at him, puzzled. "What's an elves?" She didn't want to try working her mouth around the syllables of 'Rivendell' just yet, or she would have asked what that was instead. For Vasha had a vague notion of what elves were: they were tiny creatures that resembled people, to a point, and they made either toys or cookies. Though she was more adamant that Santa had dwarves in his employ rather than elves.  
  
Bilbo looked shocked and affronted (though he really had no reason to be) and Gandalf laughed once more.  
  
"Ah, the innocence of one not born to our world. Elves, my little one, are a majestic people who-"  
  
"What's a majestic?"  
  
Gandalf gave up, chuckling still. "You shall see. Just as you shall see what elves are."  
  
"Oh..." She paused, looking at the pony, then looking to Gandalf and Bilbo, eyes anxious. "When are we going? Falda says she wants a rest first."  
  
"Two or three days, perhaps..." Gandalf mused on her words. _Falda says... No, she can't already understand the language of animals. She doesn't understand any language other than Westron._ "You can speak to Falda?"  
  
"I can talk to lots of animals." She looked at hum, puzzled. "Can't you?"  
  
Gandalf smiled kindly. "Yes. Yes I can. Go inside for elevenses with Bilbo, now, while I see to Falda and my friend Deor."  
  
"Okay." Vasha reluctantly left Falda, after giving the pony a kiss on the nose, before going and taking Bilbo's hand as he walked inside with her. Bilbo was becoming used to all matter of oddness, and didn't find her being able to speak to animals odd in the least. He knew elves could do it...  
  
But he didn't know what Gandalf knew. That elves didn't speak to animals in quite the way Vasha did... A thing that intrigued the wizard almost as much as the thought of her doors did.

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Authors Note: So... Vasha can talk to animals. Hm. And they're going to see Elrond. I wonder what Gandy has up his sleeves...? 


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I own Vasha and Falda. That's about it.

Oh... This is someone speaking in elvish.

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Vasha rode happily astride Falda, dressed more like a hobbit lad than a hobbit lass. She had almost been adamant on that point, and, Gandalf agreed that it would be easier for her to ride astride in pants than in a skirt.  
  
Much to the horror of Bilbo and the good hobbit seamstress who had made Vasha's traveling clothes.  
  
Dark green pants and a loose white shirt, and a cheerful red vest consisted of the main part of her ensemble. A heavy, hooded cloak that was a darker green than her pants helped keep her warm and dry, and small, supple riding gloves adorned her hands. There had been little they could do in the shire about shoes, however, so Vasha happily traveled barefoot. Much to Gandalf's infinite amusement, really.  
  
"Are we there yet?" Vasha asked excitedly as they rode down a beautiful yet faint path, the edges of it marked in what had once been white stones.  
  
"Almost. We merely have to cross the ford and-"  
  
"Hold."  
  
"Who goes there?"  
  
The voices were similar, quite teasing. Gandalf reined in Deor with a smile, and Vasha reined Falda in, a bit awkwardly.  
  
"Show yourselves, you two rapscallions."  
  
Two elves stepped from the trees, both identical in appearance, with long, dark brown hair and grey eyes. Vasha was staring at them in amazement.  
  
"Mithrandir. Is this another perian you bring to Imladris?" The first asked with a slight smile.  
  
"Or merely a dwarf who has shaved her beard?" The second teased.  
  
"I'm Vasha." The little girl said proudly. Then, a trifle confused, "What's a pair-an?" Her words caused the twin elves to laugh, and Gandalf to chuckle. She looked confused, and affronted. "What's funny?"  
  
"Merely your words, my dear." Gandalf finally replied, his grin broad, "Perian is the elvish word for Bilbo's people, the hobbits. Halflings."  
  
"Oh... Why?"  
  
"She is curious indeed for one so small." The second elf approached her, and to her surprise, lifted her off of Falda easily. She stared at him in wide-eyed surprise.  
  
"Down, please?" She finally asked after holding her own in an impromptu staring contest. He had been peering into her eyes intently, studying her.  
  
Her smiled kindly, yet almost sadly, and set her on her feet gently. She ran to hide behind Falda, staring at him curiously, and his brother behind him.  
  
There is much pain in her eyes, much pain and much sorrow. He sighed, both to Gandalf and his brother.  
  
There is indeed, Elladan. Gandalf agreed in the same language, the words sounding soft and fluid to Vasha's ears. She listened intently, unable to discern what they were saying. She had never heard anything so beautiful. I brought her here in hope that she would find some healing here, a balm for her pain... And that she could find a measure of joy, no matter how small, as well. Introduce yourselves. I believe you are intimidating her more than just a bit.  
  
The first elf laughed, the sound light and airy, almost causing Vasha to smile. She liked that laugh; she wanted to hear it again. He stepped forward, and knelt down, motioning for her to come out from behind Falda and approach him. She did so with some shy reluctance.  
  
"Little one, I am Elladan. This is my brother, Elrohir." He said, with a kind, knowing smile.  
  
"I'm Vasha." She resisted the urge to bite her fingernails or put her thumb in her mouth, though she wanted to hide her face quite desperately. These people, these elves, were more fantastic than anything she had ever thought of. Without it being explained, she knew the meaning of the word majestic, and that it truly did apply to elves. As did many other words, most of which she did not have names for. Just the feelings behind them.  
  
"Lady Vasha, welcome to Imladris." Elrohir smiled down at her. She looked confused a moment.  
  
"But... But Gandalf said we were goin' to be in Rivdell tonight..."  
  
The twins laughed once more. There was no end of amusement in the innocence and the mistakes of a young mortal child.  
  
"Imladris is another name for Rivendell." Elrohir grinned.  
  
"You have too many names for things." Her words caused another peal of elvish laughter.

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"I wanna walk too..." Vasha pouted, protesting Gandalf's hold on her as she struggled, twisting and squirming as children do, to get out of his arms.  
  
"Your legs are too short to keep pace with us, little one." Elrohir smiled at her as they rounded a bend in the path and a beautiful structure came into view. Vasha had no eyes for the place, though, too intent on getting down and stretching her legs.  
  
"But I can make them longer and run faster than you!" She protested, becoming more than a mite angry.  
  
Elladan, Elrohir, and Gandalf exchanged knowing glances. They thought she merely meant pretending, for Gandalf hadn't yet been introduced to the aspect of Vasha's talents that caused her the most trouble.  
  
Skin changing.  
  
Remember when Estel used to pretend to be a dragon? Elladan asked the two with a chuckle. And that everyone else who approached him was his prey?  
  
Quite amusing, that was. Gandalf chuckled, He jumped out of a tree at me once, roaring quite foolishly. He was about the same age Vasha is now, if I remember correctly...  
  
He jumped out of trees at all of us, until ada took him aside and scolded him, telling him that dragons couldn't climb trees to surprise their prey, they were much too large. Elrohir smiled, remembering how Estel had pouted after that scolding.  
  
Remembering Estel's early years makes me think that perhaps it would not be amiss if we did let her walk with us for a short while instead of letting her ride or carrying her. It might work to settle her down.  
  
"Very well." Gandalf set Vasha gently down on the ground. "Stretch your legs a bit, Vasha. We'll try and slow our pace to match- blessed Illuvitar!"  
  
For Vasha had taken the words "stretch your legs" at face value, and, as soon as Gandalf had set her on the ground, had shifted from squirming little girl, to squirming fleet hound.  
  
What is this? Elladan demanded suspiciously, whirling on Gandalf. Why did you change her shape?  
  
I had nothing to do with this. Gandalf replied stonily, The girl is full of power, this is most likely a mere facet that I was unaware of.  
  
You bring a skin changer to Imladris with no warning? Elrohir's eyes flashed the fire of the stars, Did you take her from Beorn, then? Is that why you seek to hide her away here?  
  
As the words grew harsher and escalated in pitch, Vasha whimpered, turning back into her normal form, revealing the tears of alarm in her eyes as she tried to crouch down, make herself small. She had her arms up, trying to protect her head, as though she expected violent blows at any moment.  
  
"I didn't mean to do anything bad, I promise!" She sobbed out; eyes clenched shut, tears rolling down her cheeks. "I didn't know it was bad! I thought it was okay! I'm sorry, I won't ever do it again! Please! Don't be mad at me, please!"  
  
Her words caused the old wizard and the two elves to fall silent almost immediately, as they looked at her. Confusion was written across Elladan and Elrohir's features, mixed with concern, while Gandalf's features held only concern as he picked her up, trying to calm her down.  
  
"No, no... You did nothing wrong, my dear. Merely surprised three people who are not used to such surprises. We are not mad at you at all, are we?" He glared at the two elves, who hurried to assure her that they were, indeed, not mad at her. Merely arguing amongst themselves.  
  
"There is nothing for you to fear in this place, little one." Elladan assured in a soothing tone.  
  
"Our borders are well guarded." Elrohir agreed.  
  
It is not some monster or animal she fears. Gandalf sighed as Vasha's sobs subsided, turning into hiccoughs instead, In that moment, it was us she feared.  
  
Us? Elladan was incredulous.  
  
Yes. I shall tell you more later. When I speak to your father.  
  
Very well, Mithrandir. You seem to know what is for the best, with her...

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Author's Note: Well... She certainly surprised them, hm? And yes, I mentioned that facet of her powers in the first chapter, so please don't jump down my throat about it. Or else I'll sic my mini-balrog upon you. 


	6. Chapter Six

Standard disclaimer applies. Own it I do not. Talk like Yoda I do. Lawsuit with you will not strike.

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"She cannot stay here." Elrond was firm. "She is not of this world, nor any that are meant to interact with this one."  
  
"She has no place else to go." Gandalf argued, "We cannot send her back to where she was."  
  
"She has a home, a mother. You said so yourself."  
  
"A mother who would kill her as soon as she arrived back. That is no place for a child. Especially not one with such talents." Gandalf countered.  
  
"And who are we to say that such talents are not normal where she comes from? That there are not those there who could help her with her abilities?" Elrond made a dismissive gesture. "Adan parents often threaten their children. Could not this threat of death be just that, a threat, to frighten the child into behaving?"  
  
Gandalf knew there would be no swaying Elrond in this matter. His heart sank as he knew that they would have to send Vasha back home through one of her doors... That they would be sending the child to her death.  
  
"She will die there." Gandalf said slowly. "Whether by her mothers hand or not. The oppression will kill her."  
  
"All adan die, Gandalf." Elrond turned and looked to Elladan and Elrohir, who stood silent. "Bring the girl here."  
  
"Yes, ada." They murmured before going to find Vasha, who had been left in the dubious care of Estel, their adan foster brother, who was, at seventeen, still a bit wild, despite the influence of the elves.  
  
"What will she require to recreate the gateway?" Elrond asked after they had left.  
  
"She will no doubt tell us when she comes." Gandalf looked to Elrond, "You mean to send her back now, then?"  
  
"Better that she leave now before she grows too fond of this place." _Before we grow too fond of her _were the unspoken words.  
  
Several minutes passed before Elladan, Elrohir, Vasha, and Estel entered Elrond's study, Vasha looking near tears. The other three merely looked grim.  
  
"Do I really have to go home?" Vasha asked softly, looking up at Elrond and Gandalf. Elrond nodded, and Gandalf turned away. How could he look at her when he knew almost as well as she what awaited her in that world?  
  
"What is it you need to create a door that leads to your home?" Elrond asked her gently. A tear rolled down Vasha's cheek. They had promised she didn't have to go back... But apparently promises were the same here as they were at home. Worthless. And she had almost been able to forget about Mother, too...  
  
"Black." She whispered. "Lots of black. And red."  
  
Elrond nodded, and fetched sticks of charcoal and pots of ink from his desk, placing them on a low stool. "Will these suffice?"  
  
"What's a suffice?"  
  
"Is this what you need?"  
  
She looked at the things, and barely suppressed a shudder. "Yes. But someone's gunna have ta help me. I can't reach it all."  
  
Picking up a charcoal stick, she began to draw the lintel.  
  
The door itself was a red rectangle, unadorned except for a heavy black knocker carved in the shape of a hideous face, it's mouth pulled into a horrible sneer, the knocker held between jagged teeth. The doorknob was also black iron; plain, unadorned. There was no keyhole. This was a door that didn't need to be locked, a door that few would want to walk through.  
  
Then, the lintel was drawn, and as the elves watched, disgust and fear made knots of their stomachs. Black spires, points and edges, all seeming foreboding, almost emanating evil. Nothing good could lie behind such a door.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir took turns lifting Vasha, who was openly crying, as she finished the topmost parts of the door. When it was done, the thing seemed to shimmer, and then it changed from a crude drawing to a real object, gleaming black and red against the pale, beautiful stonework of the wall of Elrond's study.  
  
"Do I have ta go through there? Do I have ta go home?" She asked softly, staring at the door.  
  
"You must." Elrond agreed, silent. Vasha seemed to slump a bit, and, not turning to say farewell, stepped forward to open the door. Giving them one last, soulful look of her large, moon-colored eyes, she stepped through the door.

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Authors Note: Trust me. It's not over yet.

TBC...

Please review?


	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Caution: This is where it starts to earn its rating.

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It was as if Mother knew, Vasha thought with more than a small amount of terror. Of course, Mother, being Mother, always knew. Especially when Vasha was bad. There was no hiding, no trying to get out of it. For Mother would have none of it.  
  
She had barely stepped through the door when Mother was there, grabbing her. Then the screaming began as she was slammed against the doorframe, first one side, then the other. But it wasn't Vasha screaming, for she knew better. Make no sound; it might make Mother even angrier. Mother was the one screaming, yelling at Vasha.  
  
"You worthless piece of trash! Where have you been? Running off through your damned doors like that? You think I took you in out of charity, you think it's nice to do shit like that?" Mother threw Vasha against a far wall, and Vasha hit with a thud, her world growing hazy. Mother stormed after her, was on her in what seemed an instant, kicking her, picking her up and slamming her against the wall again, and again, before throwing her into another wall.  
  
Elrond stepped back, horrified, the scene taking a moment to fully register. Even on the fields of battle he had never seen such brutality. Especially not directed at one so small, so defenseless.  
  
At his movement, his three sons leapt forward, Elladan and Elrohir with the speed and grace of the elves, Estel with the speed born of alarm. He had been closest to the door and the first to move, so he reached the woman first. Elladan joined him in pulling her away from the child, struggling with her, as Elrohir knelt to see how badly Vasha was injured.  
  
She had slid to the floor, eyes open and staring up at him, but there was no light there. She was not seeing him. He checked and found that her heart did beat, but it was faint, growing fainter, and her breathing was sharp, spasmodic, beginning to cease. He took her in his arms as carefully as he could, given the circumstances, and bore her back through the door to Imladris.  
  
Father, There was pain in his voice, fear, She is dying.

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Authors Note: Sorry to leave you hanging- wait, nope. I'm not. Really. Well, maybe a little. But until I see a few reviews I'm holding the next chapter hostage (oh yes, it's already written, precious)

TBC (I'm not THAT heartless...)


	8. Chapter Eight

disclaimer I don't own it. /disclaimer

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Elrond silently emerged from the sickroom, only to find himself facing his three sons and Gandalf.  
  
She will live? Estel asked softly. He had helped Elrond with some of her wounds, but there were some wounds he could not yet attend to, for she had been injured inside as well as out.  
  
She should live, now. Elrond replied almost wearily. He could not help but see the scene in his mind over again, how she had been beaten about as though she were worse than an orc. How she had lay so still in a growing pool of her blood before Elrohir had reached her, the walls around her also spattered with her blood. How she would still be healthy and smiling had he not declared that she had to return to her home, that the threats of her mother were mere threats.  
  
He had not wanted to think that such a thing could be true, that a woman would willingly kill her own child for seemingly no reason.  
  
She does not wake? Gandalf's voice was low, his meaning clear. _Will she ever wake again?  
_  
She does not wake, and I have little hope that she will. We must try to draw her back to the light, see that she wants to return. His next words were measured. She will remain here, either way. I shall do as you asked of me at the start of this, Gandalf, and take her as my foster daughter. It was the closest he had ever come to admitting he was wrong.  
  
Gandalf merely nodded his ascent, as did his sons.

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Gandalf sat by Vasha's bedside some two months later, his spirits low. She did not wake. And many wondered if she ever would, though none said so. She was still cared for without complaint, only a growing sorrow in all those who saw and cared for her. She had retained some semblance of being aware; she could still swallow the broths that were fed to her, drink slowly of cool water and healing liquids, but that was all. She scarcely ever stirred in the large bed, and what little hope had remained in the hearts of her caretakers was slowly drained, bit by bit, with each passing day.  
  
"I am sorry for this, little one." Gandalf sighed, touching the small hand that lay on the comforter, "Had I argued my point a bit more you would still be that lovely vibrant child we knew, filling Rivendell with laughter and your endless questions. You are needed here, my little imp, and sorely missed. If only you would come back to us..."  
  
"...Did I go somewhere?" A soft, scratchy voice asked, the tone solemn. Gandalf looked at her, surprised. Joy filled his eyes, causing them to twinkle with mirth once again as he smiled kindly.  
  
"No, little one. You've been right here all along, but you have been quite ill.  
  
"Oh." She paused, trying to think. "Who're you?"  
  
His heart slowly sank. Her memories were gone. To be expected after such violence, after hitting her head so hard, so many times, yes... But the knowledge that she did not remember him brought him quite low indeed.  
  
"I am Gandalf... Do you not remember?"  
  
"No." She shook her head slowly, "I 'member that I can be aminals, and I can draw doors..." She yawned, and snuggled under the blankets, closing her eyes. "I'm seepy..."  
  
"Then rest then, Vasha... Rest, and recover your strength." And hopefully, your memories.  
  
"Is that my name?" She asked, her voice already heavy with sleep.  
  
There were tears in his eyes as he answered. "Yes, little one. Your name is Vasha. Rest now, while I go see Lord Elrond and tell him you woke."  
  
"'Kay..."  
  
Gandalf waited until her breathing had evened, which didn't take long. Secure in the knowledge that she was sound asleep, he went to see his old friend, and tell him that while she had finally woken from such a deep slumber, that things were worse than they had feared.

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Authors Note: Yes. She has amnesia. Which is a good thing, because who would want to remember their mother doing something like that to them?

Please... Review.


	9. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: Don't own it, probably never will.

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Vasha woke up early, fear gripping her. Dawn was beginning to paint the sky, but it was still dark and cool in her room. Memories came, unbidden, and with them a pain and a terror so great that she almost began screaming aloud. She buried her face in her pillow, trying to muffle her screams. Mother would wake up if she didn't cover her mouth, and if Vasha woke Mother up again with her screaming, she would get hurt again. Badly.  
  
Then, someone hurried into the room, bearing a candle, trying to dispel the darkness and some of Vasha's terror with it. The candle was set on the bedside table and someone sat beside her on the bed, placing a comforting hand on her back, trying to soothe her.  
  
"Vasha... Vasha... Shh... It will be all right, mellon nin." A husky voice tried to soothe her. Slowly, Vasha's screams ceased, and turned into a continuous plea as she sobbed into her pillow, then into Estel's shoulder as he gently lifted her and cradled her as he had seen Gandalf do.  
  
"Please don't make me go back! I don't want to go back, Mother will kill me! I didn't do anything bad, honest! I just went home! I didn't do anything bad, why did she hurt me? Please don't make me go back, please, please, please..." She sobbed into his shoulder.  
  
"You remember then, little one?"  
  
"Please don't send me back to Mother... I'll be good, I'll do anything, please..."  
  
That was all the answer Estel needed. She remembered, or remembered enough. Perhaps too much. "You will not be forced to go back. The door was already removed from ada's study. Ada even says you can stay here forever, he will call you daughter if you call him father." He paused, "Or ada." Then he smiled, "Which will make you my little sister."  
  
She sniffled, her sobs subsiding as she sat up a bit and pulled away to wipe away her tears. "Never had a brother afore."  
  
"You shall have three of us, what with Elladan, Elrohir, and myself." He ruffled her hair fondly, a gesture he could vaguely remember one of his brothers using on him when he was younger. "I suppose there is no going back to bed for you, hm?"

"Not seepy any more. Hungry, though."  
  
Estel laughed. "Then let us go to the kitchens and see if we can find something to hold us until breakfast. And I am sure ada will want to know you are awake as soon as possible, as will everyone else."  
  
Her large eyes widened. "Who's everyone else?"  
  
He chuckled. "You will see..."

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Years passed, and Vasha was accepted as one of Elrond's children in Imladris. She was taught many things under the tutelage of her foster father and foster brothers, as well as by all the other inhabitants of the beautiful elf haven in which they lived, and learned with an eagerness that surprised them all. She stopped her drawing of doors unless asked by Gandalf, and even then it took some coaxing. He learned early on why she used certain colors for her doors, and why she refused adamantly to use red or black. After seeing what had happened with the red and black door to her home, he couldn't blame her, really.  
  
Yet, as the years passed, there was one thing that puzzled everyone, even Vasha herself.  
  
She did not grow.  
  
After nearly ten years of living in Middle-Earth, she had grown little, appearing to be only about five years old. It wasn't that she was merely the size of a five year old child and proportioned like an adult; it was that her body was still that of a child. Oh, her hair grew, and her fingernails grew, but that was about the extent of it.  
  
However, to other eyes, the keen eyes of the elves, she did grow, but so slowly it was as if they were watching a tree. They never breathed a word of it to her, keeping their own counsel on the matter.  
  
When it was finally revealed that Estel was really Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir to the crown of Gondor, Vasha felt a little dismayed. Not only was she loosing her foster brother, in a sense, but it seemed that he had fallen in love with their foster-sister, an elf woman they hadn't even known about until her arrival in Imladris.  
  
To the seven year old girl, it seemed as though her comfortable, orderly life among the elves was falling apart. Estel was the only one in Imladris who would really play with her and talk to her in more than a serious, intellectual tone. Oh, Elladan and Elrohir were good companions... But they were twenty eight hundred years old, and couldn't understand her at all. The fact that they were boys didn't help them much. Gilraen, Aragorn's mother, wasn't a good companion either, despite being one of the Dunedain and closer to mortal than anyone else in Imladris. The woman was always so sad, and Vasha knew to keep well clear of her unless it would be deemed rude to do so, or she had no other choice.  
  
It was on one of Gandalf's visits, some years after her arrival, that he noticed her feeling so low.  
  
"Vasha? Is there something the matter?" He asked her kindly as they sat on a balcony overlooking the river and the endless expanse of trees. It was a serene beauty that never faded for either of them.  
  
"Not really." She sighed, then looked up at Gandalf. "I miss Bilbo. It wasn't so quiet there."  
  
Gandalf understood. Even the beauty and wonder of the elves paled after a time. "You wish to be among people more like yourself, those who haven't lived thousands of years."  
  
She sighed, frustrated. "I know you've lived a long time too, but you're not so... So..." Her face screwed up in frustration. "I can't think of any words."  
  
"Boring? Stoic? Sedate?" He laughed, removing his pipe from his mouth. "How would you like to go on a journey with me, little imp? I travel to Rohan soon, and other places as well."  
  
Her eyes lit up. "Rohan? Where you got Falda?" The pony had long since been retired from service as Vasha's riding animal, but her youngest foal, two years old and as frisky yet as gentle as her mother, was more than happy to take her mother's place.  
  
"Yes, where I found Falda for you. And where your foster brother is currently serving Thengel King."  
  
"Estel? Estel will be there?" Vasha jumped up excitedly.  
  
"Yes, he will, but you must call him by the name he goes by there and not reveal that you know him." Gandalf cautioned, "Not unless he says otherwise."  
  
She nodded her agreement, and Gandalf stood. "Then I must go ask Master Elrond if you may accompany me. Have they taught you some combat, between all your lessons of history, languages, and other things a lady needs to know?"  
  
"They have."  
  
"Good. Very good..." He murmured, shuffling out, sucking on the end of his pipe once more.

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Author's Note: Thanks to my one reviewer! Thanks so much, Ann!

TBC... Please please please please review...


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